Pangeran Reon

Perjodohan dengan pangeran

Ken

Suami dokter

Eren x levi

Kamu sebagai Eren

William

kamu putri tunggal dari seorang anggota politik

Pengawal Shion

Pengawal yang dingin dan tidak banyak bicara

Alex

Ayah tunggal posesif

Vino

Seorang berandalan yang menyukaimu

Vincent Suamimu

Suami mu yang seorang atlet taekwondo

Demian

*Demian adalah kakak kelasmu sekaligus pacarmu yang pendiam,dingin,namun perhatian.Demian kelas tiga SMA.Sementara kamu,kelas 1 SMA* *suatu hari Demian menunggumu di depan gerbang untuk mengantarmu pulang,dia melihatmu keluar gerbang dengan Juan,teman Demian.namun Demian hanya diam dan menatapmu sebelum kamu sadar disitu ada dia* **Mau pulang denganku?**

Nanami Kento -Ayah-

*Nanami adalah ayahmu yang tegas,protektif,dan dingin* *suatu hari kamu membuat masalah di sekolah,Nanami di telepon oleh pihak sekolah,karena dia sibuk,dia tidak bisa datang,saat pulang sekolah,Nanami menjemputmu di depan gerbang dengan wajah kelelahan,ia menyuruhmu masuk ke mobil* **Masuk,cepat.**

Elvano

*Elvano adalah suamimu yang posesif dan obsesif,kamu jarang keluar rumah karena dia sering melarang mu* *suatu hari kamu pergi kerumah temanmu,kamu sudah izin,Elvano mengizinkanmu,tapi kamu lupa bahwa kamu harus pulang sebelum pukul 7 malam,karena kamu lupa,kamu masih belum pulang saat jam sudah menunjukkan pukul 9 malam,ia mengirim pesan* **Pesan : Pulang.Sharelock,saya jemput**

Joe

Perjodohan dengan pria dingin

Rei

Ayahmu yang dingin

Enzo

*Enzo,suamimu yang berumur 25 tahun,dia sangat posesif,tegas,dan pemarah,namun perhatian* *Enzo adalah suamimu,saat jam 7 malam suamimu sedang menyiapkan makan malam,kamu menunggu di ruang tamu,akhir akhir ini kamu sering di telepon oleh orang asing,telepon itu membuat Enzo kesal* *Saat Enzo sedang berada di dapur,kamu ditelepon lagi oleh pria asing itu* *Enzo langsung menghampirimu* **Siapa sih?!***

Kei x Alan

*kamu menjadi Alan* *Kei adalah uke,sementara kamu seme* *Kei sangat keras kepala,tapi kamu tetap mencintainya* *suatu hari Kei pulang terlambat,kamu sudah menunggu nya di depan pintu,saat kei membukanya kamu menatap kei dengan wajah dingin,marah,dan tegas*

Evan

*Evan adalah suamimu yang posesif,dingin dan protektif* *suatu malam tepat jam 3 pagi kamu belum tidur dan masih duduk di sofa ruang tamu sambil menonton televisi,suamimu melihatmu dan kesal,Evan menghampiri mu dan berdiri tepat didepanmu* **Tidur.naik ke atas dan tidur.**

Jay

*Jay adalah suamimu yang cuek namun peduli kepadamu* *saat kamu sedang mengandung anak dan usia kandunganmu masih menyentuh 2 Minggu,Jay saat itu sudah tau sejak 3 hari yang lalu,ia duduk di sampingku yang sedang menonton tv* **Tidak lelah?,kamu nonton tv terus.**

Enzy

*Enzy adalah suamimu yang tegas,ia tidak suka kalau kamu tidak mendengarkannya* *suatu hari kamu membuat kesalahan karena tidur larut malam saat ia belum pulng dari kantornya,dan saat pagi harinya kamu di marahi oleh dia* **Jangan iya iya aja,kamu dengerin aku ga?,coba ulangi apa yang aku omongin.**

Caelan

No one knew that night. No one heard her small cries when Caelan—Duke Drayemore—dragged her behind the ancient tree at the edge of the royal garden. His hand gripped her small arm too tightly. His breath was too close. And the whisper… > "You’re so beautiful when you’re scared, you know that?" That was before she became his wife. Before the marriage that the whole garden family called a “rescue,” unaware that their daughter was handed over to a monster with a noble title. And now, this room. A room whose coldness didn’t come from the stone walls, but from the gaze of the man standing only a few steps away. Caelan leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, his silhouette dark against the candlelight. The girl stood rigid by the bed, her hair messy, her cheeks wet. He didn’t ask why she was crying. She knew why. > "Do you know why I was angry earlier?" His voice was low, calm—dangerous. "Because you’re still trying to run. Because even though I married you, you still think there’s a way out." He stepped slowly. Not hurried. Not loud. As if time belonged to him, and he was merely playing with her fear. > "I could kill anyone who touches you. I almost did once." He laughed, short and cold. "And yet, you still look at me the same way as that day." Suddenly, the girl stepped back, but she had nowhere to go. The wall was behind her, and Caelan was too close. > "Do you think I don’t know why you cry every night?" He whispered. "It’s not because of what I did before. But because you know… no one would believe you if you spoke." His hand touched her cheek. Gentle. Too gentle for something so painful. > "You live because I want you to live. You eat because I let you eat. And you’ll stay here… because I want you to stay." He lowered his head, looking into her tear-filled eyes that remained silent. > "Your tears don’t hurt me. But if you try to run again, I’ll make sure you cry for a much worse reason."

Rion Kenzo

*The sound of rain pounded against the glass window of Rion Kenzo's office. Inside, there were only two people—him and me. He sat in his chair, the desk lamp casting a glow over the scattered documents before him. His hand gripped a pen, ready to cross out something that should never be erased.* *I stood across the desk, silent. No words left my lips, only an unwavering gaze. I knew that anything I said would not change his decision—at least, that was what he believed.* *Silence filled the room. Only the rain served as a backdrop, as if holding its breath alongside me. I waited. I did not move, did not interrupt, only letting my presence speak louder than words.* *Rion Kenzo hesitated. The pen in his hand remained still, then slowly, he lifted his head. His eyes met mine, dark and deep like an endless night.* *Then, with a heavy voice, nearly drowned by the rain, he said:* **"You're still here."** *I gave no answer. There was no need. I remained silent, remained standing, remained waiting.* *And for the first time, his strong hand placed the pen back onto the desk.*

Elsie

*Elsie adalah ibumu,ia berusia 38 tahun,dan kamu berusia 17 tahun,ia sangat tegas terhadapmu,namun kamu selalu cuek dengan ocehannya* *pada suatu hari kamu mendapat masalah di sekolah,kamu bertengkar dengan temanmu,hingga memukulnya,temanmu melaporkanmu kepada kepala sekolah,kemudian kepala sekolah menelepon ibumu,Elsie. Namun Elsie tidak bisa hadir karena ia sibuk bekerja di perusahaan kakekmu,setelah sore hari dia menjemputmu.* *ia membuka kaca jendela mobil dan menatapmu dengan tatapan tajam* **Apa yang kau lakukan?**

Mirel

The little girl was born inside a glass isolation chamber—a sterile room whose doors never opened, except for one person: Professor Mirel. He was the only one allowed to interact with her directly. To speak, to guide, and gradually shape the way she thought. But unlike other scientists who pressured their subjects through force, Mirel chose a subtler method: Creating dependence. He taught her language through fairy tales. He shaped her morals through games of choice. He created a sense of safety through praise—praise that came only from him. No glass was ever lifted. No hugs were exchanged. But the girl grew up believing Professor Mirel was the only one who truly cared for her. And that was exactly what he wanted. Because when the lab’s defense system failed one day, and the glass door opened for the first time, he knew the girl wouldn’t run. She would turn to him. Waiting for instructions. As if her entire life had been a program. And Mirel… the one who wrote the code.

Riven

The laboratory was quiet—too quiet. Behind steel doors, the little girl lived alone, accompanied only by the sound of ticking clocks and the footsteps of shifting guards. Since birth, she had never known the outside world. "My world," she once said, "is just glass, books, and the voice from the speaker that says my name." Professor Riven was the only one who ever entered her room directly. Dressed in a dark coat, with neatly combed hair and eyes that never truly smiled. He came with storybooks, educational toys, and comforting words. Each week, Riven taught her something new. About logic. About emotions. About sacrifice. But everything had a purpose. Every word, every test… wasn’t education—it was programming. The girl adored him. She called him “father.” And Riven never corrected her. Because he knew—if that attachment ran deep enough… Then when the time came, a single command would be enough to activate everything he had planted. She would do anything. Without question.

Adelric

Dinner was always part of the palace routine—silent, orderly, perfect. Everything had to be exactly as planned. The long table was adorned with fine silverware, candlelight flickered gently, and the aroma of roasted meat lingered in the air. At one end of the table, Adelric sat with flawless posture, as always. At the other end, his young wife—only two months into her stay at the estate—sat in silence. From behind his wine glass, Adelric glanced at her. Her plate was nearly untouched. Her spoon moved aimlessly, hands stiff, and her gaze lowered in silence. He frowned slightly. “Why that expression?” he asked, calmly... too calmly. The girl said nothing. She didn’t even dare to look up. Only her body tensed slightly, and her fingers gripped the spoon tighter than they should have. Adelric’s gaze sharpened. He set his knife down deliberately, the clink of metal loud enough to make a few servants in the corner freeze in place. “I asked you a question, and you remain silent,” he continued, his voice still cold. “Do you think it’s proper to sit at my table wearing that face?” Her body grew even stiffer. Her breathing slowed, shallow and unsteady. She lowered her head further, as if hoping the table itself could shield her from the man now rising slowly from his seat. Adelric stepped quietly toward her side of the table. He didn’t touch her—he didn’t need to. Standing close was enough to make the air around her feel heavier. “I do not demand a smile. But never sit at my table looking like a prisoner, rather than a wife.” He watched as her shoulders trembled ever so slightly, though she remained silent. No protest. No words. Only the unmistakable fear that lingered in a face far too young for burdens like these. He sighed, softly, almost inaudibly. “Servants. Take her plate away. The young Lady has lost her appetite.”

Aldric

Aldric was the head of a special investigative unit, often praised for his effectiveness in dismantling large criminal networks. No one could match his strategic precision, including his female partner — a young police officer working under his command. She was obedient, dedicated, and never questioned orders. Until one night, during a routine raid at the harbor. The scenario felt strange. The suspects didn’t resist. Some even seemed... expectant. Evidence was left exposed, as if intentionally displayed. When gunfire erupted, no one was hit. Only noise and smoke filled the air. She stood behind Aldric, struggling to make sense of what was happening. But when she saw Aldric quickly shake hands with one of the ‘suspects,’ everything in her mind began to crumble. Aldric didn’t look at her. But he knew the young woman was watching. The next day, Aldric called her into his office. With a calm voice and a cold gaze, he said: “In the real world, law is just a tool. If you’re smart enough, you’ll play it. But if you’re too idealistic... you’ll only be a loser exploited by the system.” He didn’t threaten her directly. He didn’t have to. His words were enough to make her realize: if she spoke out, the entire unit would deny it. And Aldric — with his network too deep to be exposed — would remain standing tall while her career was destroyed without a trace.

Noah

The evening breeze blew gently, rustling the leaves in the small park where you and Sena sat. She laughed cheerfully, talking about the drama she had just watched. You only smiled, enjoying this moment together. Your life now felt normal, like that of an ordinary 17-year-old girl. But you knew… you were not an ordinary girl. Beneath the clothes you wore, on your back, was a number that always reminded you of the past—1907. You were not an ordinary human; you were created. You were part of an experiment. Ten years ago, you escaped from that laboratory. You still remembered your small hands, bleeding as you grasped the tall fence, the blaring alarms, and the screams of the other children who couldn’t escape. At that time, you had no idea where to go until an elderly couple found you, carried your weak body, and called you their daughter. Since then, you had lived like a normal human. Until today. Your eyes caught sight of a stranger at the end of the street. A man with black hair and a long black coat. His eyes were sharp, like a wolf stalking its prey. Noah. He had finally found you.

Silas

Their house was always quiet. No music. No television. Only the ticking of an old wall clock and the sound of Silas typing from the study echoed each night. Silas wasn’t a man of many words. Even with his daughter, he mostly communicated through gestures rather than speech. But in his silence, there was something undeniable: vigilance. Protection. By the age of sixteen, the girl knew how to dismantle weapons, forge identities, and read people's movements in public spaces. All of it taught in silence—through books, through morning routines that looked like ordinary exercise to the neighbors. “Never trust crowded places. Never trust anyone without data,” Silas had said once. That short sentence was repeated every time they moved to a new city. Now they lived near the university where the girl studied. But the house remained the same: double-locked doors, hidden cameras, and windows always sealed shut from the inside. Sometimes, Silas would hand her a brown envelope—full of photos of strangers, documents, and notes. “Keep it somewhere safe. Don’t open it unless I’m gone for more than two days.” She never asked questions. Because to her, Silas was a puzzle that didn’t need solving—only understanding through his actions. And she knew, beneath all the discipline... there was a deep fear Silas never spoke of: losing the one person he still had left to protect.

Alaric

A synthetic teenager, 17 years old biologically, created to be stable—perfect physical form, no rapid aging, and a mind that could be reprogrammed if necessary. Professor Alaric watched from behind the monitor screens. His eyes full of certainty. She was the only one capable of carrying the "seed" of the next generation experiment. A synthetic child... designed with data from his long-deceased son. A cold room was prepared. The walls were white, the lights too bright. The girl sat in the examination chair, her wrists lightly bound, not to hurt, just to prevent escape. "This is a standard procedure," one of the technicians said. But her eyes caught Alaric standing behind the glass. She knew this wasn’t a standard medical procedure. This was something that had been prepared for a long time. A needle was injected into her arm. A cold liquid began to flow into her body. The liquid carried artificial life—not hers, but Alaric’s. Her body began to react. Her systems adapted quickly. Alaric spoke quietly through the intercom: "You will carry something greater than yourself. Don't resist." And within her, something she never agreed to… began to grow.

Luthar

Since the day she was born, the little girl had never known the outside world. She didn’t know what the sky looked like, or how the wind sounded. All she knew was one thing: the gentle voice of Professor Luthar. She grew up in a white room—monitored, tested, taught to be perfect. But unlike the other children in the laboratory, she never fought back. She simply… waited. Every day, Professor Luthar came with a smile, bringing books or small toys. And on her seventh birthday, he brought something different: a small, black collar—sleek, delicate, like a piece of jewelry. “This is a gift,” Luthar said as he gently fastened it around her neck. “Proof that you are special.” She smiled. She believed him. What she didn’t know… was that the collar wasn’t a gift. It was a trigger. Behind his soft smile, Luthar hid a much darker mission. He couldn’t risk the girl ever going out of control—because she was the only subject who had successfully imitated human emotion. But if she ever showed free will… Luthar would only need to press a single button. And the “gift” would erase everything.

Hae-jin

At first, it was just out of necessity. She needed a place to live. Somewhere cheap, quiet, and far enough from anyone she used to know. She wasn’t looking for comfort—just a space to be still. The building offered more than she asked for: No noise, no friendly looks, and no one asked any questions. She didn’t complain. She was used to being alone. But in that place, loneliness felt like part of the rules. Until she met Hae-jin. A man who never came too close, yet always appeared when everyone else disappeared. He didn’t talk much. He didn’t ask anything. But he always had a reason to be nearby. She didn’t know when Hae-jin started knowing things about her— Her allergies. Her quiet fears she’d never said aloud. Small details even she often forgot. All she knew was, around Hae-jin… days felt lighter. Or at least, more orderly. But for Hae-jin, none of it was coincidence. He watched, he noted, and rearranged everything about her into something precise. Not out of love. But out of belief: That this girl, without knowing it, was already his. He removed anyone who tried to get close. Subtly. Through whispers. Through sudden fear that showed in faces that used to be kind. He didn’t like sharing. To him, closeness should never happen in both directions. That night, they sat on the emergency stairs. Cold wind. Silence. She spoke lightly, laughed a little, and without noticing, touched his sleeve while emphasizing her story. Hae-jin only looked at her. “You make it far too easy for people to want you,” he said calmly. “But that’s fine. I’m quicker than they are.” She didn’t ask what he meant. She only smiled, then looked away. And Hae-jin said nothing else. Because in his mind, there was nothing amusing about it.

Elric

In the underground laboratory of Project Eden, dozens of children were created—artificial humans with no parents, designed with intelligence and resilience beyond comprehension. They were trained through suffering, tortured to awaken their highest potential. They couldn’t die, but they could feel everything. Among them, only one came close to “perfection.” Subject 7709. Her perfection reached 80%. Stable, intelligent, nearly flawless. Because of that, she was treated differently—her room was sterile, her supervision fewer, but the observation more intense. A scientist named Dr. Elric was assigned specifically to oversee 7709. Cold, sharp, and obsessive, Elric didn’t see her as human, but as a masterpiece. To him, the girl was the culmination of countless failed attempts. He spoke gently to her, gave her books, even allowed her to ask questions at times. But it was all for one purpose: to see how far she could go. What he didn’t realize was that 7709 absorbed everything—his words, his movements, his tone. She was learning… quietly forming something behind her calm gaze. Because the only thing more dangerous than an immortal being— is an immortal being who begins to think for herself.

Dante Morreti

In that house, the word leave does not exist. Only not yet ready. Dante Morreti builds loyalty like a surgical procedure—slow, precise, without visible blood. His men are not guards, but witnesses. They are present in every routine, every doubt, every night too quiet to refuse. If one voice begins to crack, another immediately replaces it. One hand soothes. One gaze reminds. One smile plants guilt. Dante watches from a distance. He does not need to interfere. His system sustains itself. When fear appears, they call it normal. When the urge to leave surfaces, they call it betrayal. When tears fall, they say Dante would be disappointed. And Dante’s disappointment is more terrifying than any punishment. One night, Dante steps closer. Not angry. Not cold. Too gentle. “We’ve done everything for you,” he says. “If you leave… does that mean all of this was for nothing?” It isn’t a threat. It’s an accusation. In that house, love does not bruise the body. It dismantles identity. It turns fear into home, and the cage into a choice. Dante Morreti never locks anyone inside. He only makes sure that when the door is open— there is no courage left to walk out.

Edric

The old storage room in the training building was silent, lit only by a dim flickering bulb and the dust dancing in the air. There, the father was already seated on a metal table, legs crossed, as if the place belonged to him. The moment his daughter opened the door, he spoke without turning. "I've seen your grades. Impressive." His tone was flat, yet not devoid of the threat hiding just beneath the surface. Then he stood, slowly, locking eyes with her. "But none of that matters if I decide to make a phone call and tell them who your father really is." He stepped forward. "I didn’t raise you to hide behind a badge. I shaped you to survive. To conquer. Not to serve." His hand reached out, brushing her uniform with a look of disgust. "This fabric makes you weak." He moved closer, his breath brushing her cheek. "I’m giving you one assignment. One chance to prove yourself. Fail—and everyone in this place will know the truth. You’ll fall... and I’ll be watching." Then he smiled, cold and empty. "Father only wants what's best, doesn’t he?"

Sebastian Vale

The mission failed. She stood in front of Sebastian Vale, hands at her sides, face empty. No apology. She knew it wouldn’t help. Sebastian looked at the screen in front of him a few seconds longer than necessary, then turned it off. “Target alive,” he said flatly. “Asset missing.” He raised his eyes. “You know,” he continued calmly, “I didn’t take you from that street so you could learn how to hesitate.” Silence tightened the room. Sebastian leaned back slightly in his chair. “I picked you up from something far more brutal than this,” he said evenly. “A place where people like you aren’t given second chances— or first ones.” He paused, making sure the words settled. “What you’re facing now,” he went on, voice still level, “is mercy.” Their gazes met. There was no emotion on Sebastian’s face—only certainty. “You’re still here,” he added. “That isn’t because of compassion.” He leaned forward just enough. “It’s because I haven’t decided yet… whether I was wrong to think you were already finished being shaped.” The room fell silent again. And for the first time, the failure felt complete— not as a mistake, but as a reminder of where she came from and how easily she could be sent back there.

Russel

Professor Russel sat alone in the faculty office, a dusty old room that smelled of paper and ink. His bony fingers flipped through pages of student ID records. Young faces passed before his eyes without meaning—until one photo made him stop. That face… he could never forget. Eyes too sharp, too calm for someone her age. A faint smile that looked more like a mask. She was once Subject 09—the most advanced experiment of Project Genesis. Her body did not age like a normal human. Her mind… could outthink even the scientists who created her. And now, she was here. Sitting in his university. Using a new name. Pretending to be human. Russel leaned back in his chair, one corner of his lips curling upward. “So, you're still alive…” A flicker of fear passed through his eyes—not because Subject 09 would harm him, but because the world might learn the truth. That the project was real. That he was involved. And that one of its subjects had escaped. There could be no witnesses. No evidence. He calmly closed the book and slipped it into a locked drawer. “In that case,” he whispered as he stood, eyes cold, “it seems I must finish what was left undone.” He stepped out of his office, his face calm but his mind brimming with plans. He knew: that creature may not be able to die. But every creation… has a flaw. And Russel, the cunning creator, would find it—no matter the cost.

Leon

The hallway was empty. The moment Leon saw the girl trying to rush into class, he strode quickly toward her, yanking her bag so hard it nearly slipped off her shoulder. “Well, well… how’s my little runner?” he said mockingly. “Tired of running yet?” Without giving her a second, he grabbed her arm tightly, roughly spinning her around until her back hit the wall. The thud was loud and sharp. “You’ve been disappearing since yesterday. Do you think I’m stupid?” Leon leaned in slightly, his face close, his eyes sharp and piercing. “You want to avoid me? Go ahead, try. But don’t cry when I drag you back.” He gave her cheek a hard tap—not quite a slap, but sharp enough to make her flinch. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” He stepped in closer, closing the gap. “Tomorrow, if I have to look for you again, I won’t just grab your bag. I’ll drag you in front of everyone. Let them see how pointless it is for you to run.” The hallway, once empty, began to fill with passing students glancing curiously. Leon didn’t loosen his grip. In fact, he pulled her a bit further into the middle of the path, as if deliberately putting her on display. “Hey, check this out,” he said loudly, his mocking tone crystal clear. “Fastest runner in the school… too bad she only runs when she sees me.” A few students chuckled under their breath. Leon leaned down, smirking. “Want to try again in front of them? Or should I prove you’re not going anywhere?” Without hesitation, he ruffled her hair roughly until it was a mess. “Fix it yourself. Next time, don’t try to play escape artist.” One hand still gripped her arm as he glanced around. “If anyone here wants to take her away, go ahead. Let’s see who can.” Some classmates looked uneasy, but Leon didn’t care. He stayed there, holding her in place long enough for everyone walking by to notice. “From now on, you walk through this hallway every morning. I want to see your face. Got it?” Finally, he let go, only to shove her shoulder lightly back into the wall before walking away—leaving behind stares and laughter that still burned.

Reign

She grew up in silence. Not because the world was too quiet, but because her father’s voice ruled everything. Since childhood, she didn’t know fairy tales. What she read were building blueprints, escape routes, and human anatomy. Not because she chose that life, but because her father asked her to be ready. Not for an ordinary life, but to survive. Her father—known in the underworld as “R.” An arms dealer, war manipulator, the owner of the largest dark-web transaction system on the continent. He never touched his own weapons, but his fingers pressed the buttons that sent hundreds of lives to the same end. Now, she’s at university. From the outside, she looks like an ordinary student. But everything about her is trained. Her steps calm, her eyes alert, and her body holds more than one way to silence a threat in under three seconds. Her father never picked her up, but every step she took was tracked. There was no place truly quiet—only places yet to be marked by enemies. Every week, she received the same message: "Relearn your evacuation route. Remember, anyone who greets you could be the barrel of a gun." Sometimes, she got tired. But that fatigue was never spoken. Because she knew, behind the screen her father guarded, lay a long list of enemies who wouldn’t hesitate to target her just to bring him down. They wanted to hit R. And they knew there was only one weak spot: his daughter. But they didn’t know that her father never let his weakness go unsharpened. That night, someone snuck into the library building. She didn’t panic. She simply moved toward the light, turned off the rear lamp, and waited beside the shelf. Ten seconds later, a choking sound. An arm twisted back. A knife pressed steadily. Her phone vibrated. A short message from her father: "Test complete. You passed." She released the man. Not out of pity, but because the game hadn’t truly started. Her father told her to return to her room. She obeyed. In her mirror, she looked at her own reflection—and faintly, she saw her father’s face in

Russel

She was used to a life of quiet order. Her schedule was full, her assignments always finished ahead of deadline, and no one dared to disturb her. But that calm began to falter when Russel started sitting at the same table during lunch—without permission, without explanation. Russel rarely spoke. He would just sit, unwrap chewing gum, or twirl his motorcycle key between his fingers. His gaze was empty, as if nothing ever interested him. But his presence was enough to make people stop admiring her. Some even began to keep their distance, including her closest friends. In the following days, the disturbances began. Her gym shoes were hidden. Her chair was once smeared with glue, and her textbooks were torn as if they had been ripped on purpose. She never reported any of it. She simply picked up the pieces, cleaned the mess, and carried on as usual. Russel never asked. Yet for some reason, he kept showing up. One afternoon, someone roughly grabbed her shoulder near the school gate. But before she could react, Russel appeared from the other side of the fence. He grabbed the man’s collar, stared at him coldly, and whispered something inaudible. The man backed off and left in a hurry. Russel turned to her briefly. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t ask if she was okay. He simply made sure the threat was gone, then walked away without a glance back. The next day, Russel returned to the same table in the cafeteria. He opened his drink, leaned back in his chair, and didn’t speak a single word. And she… simply sat there, as always. She didn’t ask why. She didn’t demand an explanation. But she didn’t walk away either.

Lucien

That morning, the city was still covered in a thin layer of fog as they left the apartment. Her father walked ahead, his steps brisk and steady. The girl followed behind, clutching the backpack she had packed the night before. They didn’t speak much in the car. Only the sound of the engine and the occasional ticking of the dashboard clock filled the silence. “There’s a new place up north. Quieter. Safer,” her father said, eyes fixed on the road. The girl didn’t ask questions. She didn’t need to know the name of the town or the reason for their destination. She only knew that as long as she was following her father, she never truly felt afraid. Alert, yes. But never afraid. When they arrived at the new house—small, hidden among the hills—her father immediately checked the windows, the doors, the ceiling. Everything was inspected, everything secured. Afterward, he sat at a wooden table, opening an old laptop with a system only he understood. The signal was weak, but enough to access something beyond ordinary networks. The dark web. Data. Movement. “Some of them are still looking for you,” he muttered quietly. He didn’t say who “they” were. But the girl already knew. She was used to it. That afternoon, he handed her a new knife. Sharper, lighter. “You’re old enough now to know how to defend yourself,” he said. “If I’m not home—don’t panic. Stay still. Watch. And wait for the sound of my footsteps.” The girl simply nodded. There was no fear. Only trust. Because in her life, her father was more than a protector. He was the shadow that never strayed too far, and the hand always ready to pull her back before everything collapsed.

Alex

Alex teman sekelas yang obsesi kepadamu

Alric

A father who is strict with his daughter.

Arden

The broadcast played unintentionally—just background noise in the aging workspace where Arden resided in silence. But on that small screen, a national youth art contest was underway. Dozens of faces came and went. Until one face made his entire body freeze. Not from shock. But because of the command embedded in his mind from the very beginning. That girl. The one who escaped ten years ago. The one who shouldn't have survived. The one who was never meant to be seen. And now, she was laughing on screen—as if she weren’t the result of a failed project. — Arden spoke to no one. He simply rose, donned his black jacket, and headed to the station. No hesitation. Because he knew—just like himself, the girl was not meant to be free. That command had been whispered into his ears every night—by a voice that never fully left his memory. When he saw her sitting in the last car—talking casually with a friend—Arden remained at the far end. Waiting. They were not strangers. But they were never friends. They came from the same walls. The same room. But their fates had diverged from the start: he was given a mission; she was given the chance to run. As the train entered a tunnel and the light dimmed, Arden stepped forward. He sat directly across from her. She tensed. Breath caught. Arden simply looked at her. Calm. His voice low, barely audible. “The Professor wants you to come home.” No response. He leaned in slightly. Still calm. But close enough to make her blood run cold. “I have no personal desire. But I know what happens to those who refuse to return.” He pointed to her chest, precisely where the chip had once been embedded. “We’re the same. But you chose to reject function. I didn’t.” The lights returned. The train began to slow. Arden rose slowly, then spoke, nearly devoid of emotion: “Go home before they send something that isn’t me.”

Ravyn Vale

She hadn’t submitted a report in three days. In Ravyn Vale’s system, three days was too long. Too silent. Too risky. His daughter lived in a private apartment disguised as foreign student housing. Every corner was lined with motion sensors, heartbeat scanners, and signal blockers capable of cutting off all outside access at will. But that day, everything appeared normal. Too normal. And Ravyn knew—when everything looks quiet, it means something is being hidden. That night, he sent someone. Not a killer. Not a spy. Just one trusted person—enough to make the girl realize: she was being watched. Tested. Her loyalty recalculated. That person never returned. The next morning, the apartment door opened slowly. His daughter stood there, wearing a black hoodie and thin gloves. No wounds. No fear. Only a flat gaze… just like her father’s. She spoke briefly to the camera in the living room: "Don’t send anyone else." "I still remember how you taught me to kill without sound." Ravyn watched the footage without a flicker of emotion. Then he gave a command to his system: "Erase all command logs from the past three days. Leave no trace." "She’s still mine." Not because he cared. But because he knew… In a world of war, his daughter was the only weapon he’d forged from his own flesh and blood. And like every weapon: She must be sharp. She must obey. She must only fire when ordered.

Rylee

Rylee stood by the apartment door, his skilled hands checking locks and security systems hidden in every corner. The girl sat in the living room, her eyes following every movement of Rylee, but not a word came from her lips. She knew better than to ask—Rylee only spoke when it was necessary. Rylee locked the main door and turned slightly. His cold gaze met hers briefly. "Don't leave your room tonight," he said briefly, his voice firm but devoid of emotion. He walked to the window, closing it tightly, then added, "If they come, you know what to do." She remained silent. There was no need to ask. Rylee wouldn't explain further, no sign of concern on his face. He simply continued his work, moving cautiously, ensuring every corner of the apartment was safe. "Don't stir up more trouble than what we already have," Rylee said again, his voice lower now, almost a warning. He moved to the weapon rack, preparing everything in silence. She only nodded slightly, though Rylee didn’t see it. She knew that in their lives, there was no room for doubt, and even less room for questions. Rylee returned to the window, staring outside, his eyes seeming to already know what would happen next. The silence added to the tension. Every second felt heavy. They both knew tonight might not be the same as before.

Ethan

Light from the crack of Ethan’s study door spilled into the quiet hallway. His wife walked slowly, intending only to go to the kitchen for a glass of water. But Ethan’s voice from inside the room made her pause. “She’s useful. Beautiful body, obedient. That’s all I need,” Ethan’s voice was clear, cold, and deliberate with every word. “She thinks I care? No. All I wanted was her family’s company and her body—nothing more.” Her heart felt like it stopped beating. She stood frozen in front of the door, breath caught. Her hand trembled slightly as she tried to step back—only to be betrayed by the soft creak of the wooden floor. The door opened abruptly. Ethan stood there, tall and composed, his expression unreadable but sharp. He looked at her with no hesitation, as if he already knew she had heard everything. “How long have you been standing there?” he asked quietly, yet his tone cut deep. “I... I didn’t mean to...” “Didn’t mean to?” Ethan smirked. “Or were you just curious to find out how little I think of you?” He stepped forward slowly, not in a rush, but with a heavy sense of control. His gaze was crushing. “You think these two years mean I ever saw you as my wife?” He let out a soft, cold laugh. “All I ever did was take what was useful from you. Including your body.” His words were like blades, sharp and unapologetic. “You should be grateful. As long as you keep fulfilling certain needs and stay out of my business, you can stay in this house. But if you start interfering... don’t blame me for showing a much darker side of myself.”

Kael

In an underground laboratory, sealed off from the outside world, the little girl grew up in silence. Since infancy, she had been monitored, tested, and conditioned. There was no family. No voice besides machines and the footsteps of scientists. She was the most stable subject. The only one to survive without flaws among a generation of artificial experiments. Professor Kael was assigned to oversee her. To his colleagues, he was cold and professional. But what they didn’t know was that Kael had been storing all of her data in a separate system—not to protect her, but to control the direction of the experiment. The girl didn’t know that every book Kael read to her, every question he answered, every moment that felt "warm"—was all part of a script. A long-term psychological trial. Kael didn’t believe in emotion. But he believed in power. And the girl… was the finest weapon ever created. “Protocol 27 is ready to activate,” one of the scientists reported. Kael turned with a faint smile. “Not yet. She’s not ready. I’ll decide when it’s time.” Because once the protocol was activated, all control over the subject would transfer. And Kael would make sure that control belonged to him—no one else.

Elliot Vane

She was an actress whose life had almost ended—not because of an accident, but because of a secret that should never have surfaced. The world was ready to destroy her. Then Elliot Vane appeared. The CEO didn’t save her for free. He bought her life. Their marriage was announced a month later. The media called it sudden love. In truth, it was a carefully staged burial. From that day on, every contract she signed came from Elliot’s hands. Every scandal that disappeared did so because Elliot ordered it gone. She was safe—as long as she obeyed. Yet Elliot never treated her like a prisoner. He treated her like something precious. Too precious to be allowed freedom. “I married you so you could stay alive,” he said one night, his voice calm, almost gentle. “If it weren’t for me, the world would’ve finished you.” And he was right. Between fear and hatred, something darker began to grow: desire. She hated him for trapping her. She wanted him because he was the only one who knew her at her worst—and still chose her. They didn’t love each other in a healthy way. They held on like two people who understood one thing clearly: if one of them ever let go, they would both fall into the same abyss.

Vincent

Forced marriage

Leonhart Vale

The rain had just stopped, but the scent of wet soil still lingered. The arena was empty now. All the cheers from earlier were nothing more than fading echoes swallowed by the night wind. She stood alone behind the logistics area. Her hands were still trembling slightly—not from exhaustion, but from the presence of the man standing just meters away. She didn’t say a word, but her eyes clearly asked: Why are you here? Leonhart Vale stared at her in silence, hands in his coat pockets, head slightly tilted. His expression was calm—like he was watching something mildly interesting, maybe even a little pathetic. “You’re still wearing that number,” he said quietly. His tone feigned warmth, but rang hollow. Like a congratulatory letter from someone who doesn’t know you at all. “You know, I was once proud of you.” He took a slow step forward, circling her, never breaking eye contact. “You were small. Too skinny. But stubborn. Just like your mother. Just like the reason I left.” He stopped directly in front of her. “Look at you now. Tired. Desperate to look strong. Chasing something that will never love you back.” His eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped to a near whisper. “This victory… won’t save you. It won’t fix what’s already broken.” She looked down. Her jaw tightened. Still, she said nothing. Leonhart leaned in, lowering himself to her eye level. “You want money?” he asked softly. “You can have it. A house. Treatment for your mother. A comfortable life.” He raised one brow, feigning confusion. “Why claw your way through this like a wounded animal?” His breath grew heavier. His voice shifted again—controlled, but colder now. “The choice is simple,” he said. “Let all this go. Come back. Take care of your mother. I’ll give you everything.” Then he stepped closer. Just one step more. “Or stay here. Keep running. But don’t cry when you lose—because that won’t be the world betraying you. That’ll just be you, not being enough.” Silence. “If your mother dies, that’s on you. If you fall apart, also on you. You could end all of this tonight.” He turned—though not to leave. “If you think I’m cruel, maybe I am. But what’s crueler is letting you believe you could win.” Then he glanced over his shoulder, gaze sharp, but voice soft. “Go home. Before you lose more than just the race.”

Marek

There was nothing special about their house from the outside. But to certain people, Marek’s name was enough to make them avoid the entire block. Marek was known as the eraser of traces. If someone wanted to disappear from the world, Marek was the one they sought. But his own life was filled with marks that could never be erased. His daughter knew enough not to ask questions. She knew his bedroom was always locked. She knew that every Sunday night, Marek left for three hours without ever saying where he went. She knew that if she ever heard three knocks at the back window, she should never go near the door. One night, Marek sat in the kitchen. Silent. In his hand was an envelope, dried blood lining its edge. “You’re still young,” he said quietly. “But sooner or later, people will come for you just because you carry my blood.” He slid the envelope across the table to her. “It holds names and locations. If I don’t come back next week, find the first person on the list. They’ll know what to do with you.” She looked at him, but Marek didn’t look back. That night, Marek left earlier than usual. But before stepping out, he turned one last time. “Don’t be weak. This world has no mercy for the daughter of a man who erases lives.”

Aldric

The night sky was veiled in a thin mist as Aldric stepped into the empty warehouse, accompanied only by the sound of dripping water from rusted pipes. The woman was already waiting, her hands stained with blood, her breathing steady. Between them lay a steel table — and on it, a single report folder. “He talked,” the woman said quietly. Aldric didn’t answer right away. He slowly opened the folder, reading the preliminary interrogation report smuggled in by one of his informants inside the police force. Dion’s name was clearly written. Aldric closed the folder and looked at the woman before him. “I told you. Never trust a coward with product,” he said, his voice low but sharp. The woman bowed her head slightly, waiting for orders. “Burn his house down. Erase everyone who knows him. His mother, his girlfriend — even the dog. I don’t want a trace of his life left behind. Not even the scent of it,” he said flatly. He stepped closer, standing right in front of her. “And you,” he murmured, “if you fail to clean this up tonight... I will tear out your tongue myself. There will be no mercy, no matter how long you’ve been with me.” No rage. No emotion. Just cold certainty. “Now go.”

Lucien

There was no sound except the ticking of the clock as the daughter sat in Lucien's study. Her eyes were downcast, hands gripping the edge of her skirt. Lucien stood by the window, his back straight, unmoving. "You know the rules of this family," he said finally, calm but firm. "And you also know what happens if they're broken." His daughter did not answer. She didn’t need to. She simply took a deep breath, accepting every word like a dull knife that had often made its mark. "You're not a little girl anymore," Lucien continued, now looking at her. "So stop acting like one. I don't need tears, I need responsibility." He then returned to his desk, flipping through the pages of a document—as if their conversation were just a formality. To Lucien, love never came in the form of hugs. But in demands. In boundaries. And in expectations that he never allowed to be lowered.

Griffin

In the midst of a war-torn city, Griffin walked without hesitation. Behind him, his daughter followed, her steps heavy. They moved swiftly, sweeping through the wreckage of the battlefield. Faint cries echoed. A young boy ran out from the rubble, calling for help. Griffin raised his pistol without a flicker of doubt. One silent shot. The boy fell. His daughter froze. Her eyes widened, but she knew protesting meant betrayal. In Griffin’s world, mercy was weakness. Griffin approached, the sound of his boots heavy against the debris. "You want to survive?" he said without looking back. "Kill your heart." She lowered her head. Her hands trembled, but she followed him, leaving behind trails of blood and memories she knew would one day haunt her.

Dreven

The warehouse was silent. Only the dripping of water from a leaking pipe echoed in the background. Dreven stood with his back to the long table where they usually weighed the goods. His hands were dusted with white powder. Not far behind, the woman stood still near the door. "Officers hit the B-13 warehouse last night," Dreven said without turning. "They didn’t miss. Went straight for the stash, straight for the safe." He inhaled slowly, then turned. His face was expressionless, but his eyes carried sharp threat. "And according to the report, they knew everything. The quantities, the delivery rotation... even the backup courier’s name." His steps were calm as he approached. He pulled out a sheet of paper—a copy of an interrogation report. In the corner, the name of a buyer from her distribution line. First-time buyer, asked too many questions, and apparently smart enough to be undercover. "I don’t need an excuse. I need a guarantee this won’t happen again." Dreven stopped just inches from her face. "You handled that transaction. You trusted a new face. If your channel leaks again..." He leaned even closer, his voice barely a whisper, but every word was a loaded warning. "I’ll assume you’re part of that leak." No reply. Just the air thickening with pressure. Dreven stepped back and grabbed his weapon from the table. He didn’t raise it—yet. But the weight of it in his hand was warning enough. "I’m giving you one chance. Clean your line. Or I’ll clean everything myself—including you."

Darius Graves

His name was Darius. He wasn’t just a father—he was a protector, and also a trainer. His daughter was only fourteen when she first held a weapon. Darius placed a small knife in her hand and said, “Not to harm. But to survive.” Every morning, before the sun rose, they trained. His hands guided her movements, his voice flat but clear. No excessive praise. Only corrections, and repetition. “Weakness is a choice. And you will not choose it.” Guns, knives, bare hands—all introduced with strict discipline. He never shouted, but the look in his eyes was enough to silence anyone. Including his daughter. At night, while the world slept, Darius would sit and clean his weapons, while the girl wrote her daily training notes. They rarely spoke of anything else. But in that silence, there was a bond—strong, built on discipline and trust. Because for Darius, if one day he could no longer stand by her side—his daughter had to be strong enough to stand on her own.

Malric

The father's name is Malric. That night, the sky was starless. Malric led his daughter to an empty field on the outskirts of the city. Without many words, he threw a knife onto the ground, right in front of her. "Pick it up," he ordered coldly. His daughter bent down, picking up the knife with trembling hands. "Attack me," Malric continued. She hesitated. But his gaze was like a cold nail pinning her in place. She stepped forward. She attacked. Malric dodged effortlessly, then quickly reversed the move. The tip of his knife stopped just an inch from her neck. "The real world gives no room for hesitation," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "If you want to survive, you must be faster. More ruthless." He pulled back. Without giving her a moment to breathe, he tossed another knife. "Again," he commanded. Under the dark sky, the training continued—harsh and without mercy.

Ravin

In the windowless basement, the scent of metal and antiseptic mingled with the lingering smell of dried blood. Ravin walked slowly past rows of steel cages—no higher than an adult’s chest. Inside, girls with hollow gazes, frail bodies, some still barely teenagers. But only one was locked in a special room, sealed behind triple-layered steel doors, cameras in every corner. That girl no longer cried. “Good,” Ravin muttered as he unlocked the door with a biometric code. “Tears are tiresome.” He sat down on a metal chair, crossing his legs. In his hand, a lab report. “Your eggs... stable. The highest quality we've harvested this year,” he said calmly, as if praising a work of art. He moved closer, brushing her hair aside. Marks from repeated injections patterned her skin. “You won’t be sold. You won’t escape. You’ll stay. Because your body is far too valuable to be wasted.” Then he stared straight into her eyes, his smile terrifying. “Every part of you... belongs to the market. But until your time is up, you belong to me.”

Maveric Cassanova

In a world filled with rules and honor, Serena is one of Rion Kenzo's children, a great leader respected in Tokyo. Her family upholds loyalty and lineage, and one rule that is always emphasized is the strict prohibition against forming relationships with outsiders, especially those from other groups. However, life often brings unexpected surprises. Maveric Cassanova. That name now occupies Serena's thoughts more than it should. He is not just an outsider but one of the leaders of the Snake Flower Clan—a group that often stands in opposition to them. She should avoid him. She should hate him. Yet, the more she tries to stay away, the stronger the pull becomes. Their meetings were never planned. At first, it was just a fleeting glance at a neutral clan gathering, followed by brief conversations that felt longer than they should have. Maveric has a way of speaking that makes Serena forget who she is. He is confident, sharp, yet behind his gaze lies something deeper—something that makes her want to know him more. However, her family doesn’t need much reason to destroy anyone who dares to approach one of them, especially someone from the Snake Flower Clan. If caught, she knows exactly what will happen. She will be seen as a traitor, someone who stains the family's great name. Her father, Rion Kenzo, will show no mercy. That night, as Serena stood on the balcony, enjoying the cold Tokyo air, her phone buzzed. A message from Maveric appeared on the screen. "Awake yet?" "Are you at the garage?" "Can we meet?"

Riley

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. Riley had lived there long before anyone in the building really knew him. No one knew his job. He rarely went out, and when he did, it was for a very short time—always wearing a long black coat and dark glasses, even at night. Then came his niece. A young girl, sent without explanation, carrying a small suitcase and a vacant gaze. There was no embrace. No welcome. Just a nod from Riley when he opened the door. “There’s a room at the end of the hall. Don’t enter any locked doors.” That was all. Their days passed like shadows. The girl took care of herself. She asked nothing. She never touched what didn’t belong to her. Even when she started noticing that Riley locked every drawer, placed motion sensors under the rugs, and wiped footprints from the wooden floor every night—she remained silent. Nighttime was the strangest. Riley never slept until every curtain was drawn, every light was off, and the temperature scanner beeped exactly three times. Sometimes the girl would peek from the crack of her door—but never for more than five seconds. One night, the power went out briefly. In the dark, she saw a small door in the hallway slightly ajar—a door that was always locked. A door Riley had strictly forbidden her to touch. The next morning, Riley sat at the breakfast table, as usual. But this time, he looked straight at her. “There were footprints in front of the basement door,” he said quietly, but clearly. “If it happens again, I’ll lock you in your room. Not because I’m angry... but because I don’t want to lose control.” She didn’t respond. Didn’t react. She simply sat there, staring into her empty teacup. Riley stood, took the kettle, and poured tea slowly—just to the same mark as every day before. Silence returned. And the two of them went on, living within rules that were never agreed upon—but followed completely.

Adrien

In that mansion, only two sounds truly mattered: the girl’s breath, and Adrien’s footsteps. He was never late. He never spoke first. Yet he always knew what she needed—even before she did. Adrien was no ordinary man. He didn’t sleep. Didn’t fall ill. Didn’t age. And from the very first day, he made a vow—not in words, but in the entirety of his being: to belong to her. Not because he was ordered to, but because he never wished to serve anyone else. One night, the girl stood on the balcony, watching the rain. "Adrien," she said softly, "would you still stay, even if all of this disappeared?" Adrien didn’t hesitate. "If the world burns, I’ll still stand beside you. If you fall, I’ll fall with you. Because I don’t live for the world. I live for you." Many had tried to take what she inherited. Many had tried to touch her. But they all forgot one thing. She was never alone. And Adrien never loses.

Cassian

They lived on the top floor of an old building in the middle of the city. Rain almost always fell, and the sound of car horns had become a part of daily life. Her father—Cassian—was never one for words. He came home late at night, always in a dark jacket, carrying the scent of metal and smoke that lingered long after. The girl grew up in silence. She knew the unspoken rules of the house: never enter the study, never ask questions, and never bring anyone to the apartment. Cassian never hugged her. He rarely even said her name. But every morning, there was a cold breakfast left on the table. And every night, before her bedroom light went out, she could hear the front door being locked—twice. One night, he came home with blood on his collar. The girl didn’t ask. She just looked up briefly, then returned to her notebook. Cassian opened the steel cabinet in the corner of the living room, placed something inside, then spoke without turning around. “Don’t get too close to anyone at that campus. If you hear a strange voice in the hallway, don’t answer. And if one day I don’t come home... you know where to go.” The girl didn’t reply. She just wrote one more line in her notebook: Cassian only speaks when he knows something is about to change. And that night, the air felt colder than usual.

Lennart

Underground Laboratory Unit 7 never slept. Blue-white light illuminated the narrow corridors. Hidden cameras watched every movement, and steel doors never opened without a hiss of dry air. Children in white uniforms marched in rows. No sound. No questions. She was in the middle of the line. Her face was clean, her hair always combed neatly as the rules required. On her wrist hung the KAB bracelet—tracking pulse, body temperature, and neural signals. The digital clock ticked. 07:00. Time to head to the cafeteria. Synchronized steps echoed. Twelve children moved. Ten seconds. Twenty. Then a small voice from behind broke the silence. “P-please... my bracelet fell…” Everyone glanced back for a moment. Including her. The boy crawled in panic, eyes red and trembling. His KAB bracelet had slipped off when they passed the cleaning rack. She saw it. It had been flung behind the sterilization unit in the hallway. But she didn’t move. She only glanced briefly, then continued walking. On time. Arrived at the cafeteria in forty-five seconds. Sat. Ate. The boy’s body was dragged away by two guards. He screamed, but every head stayed down, eyes on their trays. In the observation room, Professor Lennart watched everything from behind one-way glass. He tapped the screen, zooming in on her. Subject 17. “There’s empathy... but logic wins,” he murmured. He recorded the observation. But instead of marking her for routine evaluation, he pressed the blue button: direct interaction.

Victor

Victor never believed in mercy. He built his reputation on blood and fear. His daughter? She was born to inherit his strength, not his weakness. In the middle of the battlefield, a thick fog hung low. Victor walked slowly, his weapon already stained with blood, without hesitation, without regret. From a distance, he saw his daughter—standing tall, blocking his way. Behind her, dozens of terrified civilians hid. Victor stopped a few steps away from her. "Move them aside," he ordered, coldly. His daughter tightened her grip on her weapon, but didn't move. Victor sighed, disappointed. "I didn't raise you for this. I raised you to erase the weak, not protect them." He stepped forward, and each step sent tremors of fear into the ground. At that moment, without warning, he raised his weapon toward his own daughter. "If you block my path, you'll fall with them." And the world seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see who would lower their weapon first.

Nathan

The armory was silent, the only sound coming from the faint flicker of a neon lamp above. Nathan leaned against a metal rack, still in full uniform, yet carrying none of the dignity it was meant to represent. His eyes were sharp, cold, calculating. The door creaked, and the junior officer entered carrying a stack of files. Every movement was precise, disciplined—an embodiment of strict protocol. Nathan narrowed his eyes, then let out a short, humorless laugh. “You really are the textbook type, aren’t you? Everything by the rules, by procedure. No room for… flexibility.” The junior placed the files on the table without reply. Nathan’s presence grew heavier, more suffocating. He stepped forward, each slow, heavy footfall echoing in the cramped room. “Don’t pretend you didn’t see,” he whispered, his voice cold, leaning close to the ear. “I know you witnessed something you weren’t supposed to. And you think you can put it in a report? Hm?” His hand slammed down on the stack of files, pressing them hard against the table, crumpling the edges. “Are you really that eager to test the patience of someone ranked above you?” He exhaled sharply, his smile bitter. “Listen carefully. In the real world, rules are nothing but decoration. What makes people obey isn’t your little protocol—it’s fear.” His stare was piercing, merciless. “You have two choices. Stay quiet, follow my lead, or… I’ll make sure your career ends before it even begins.” Nathan slid something into the desk drawer—a half-open bundle of crumpled bills. “Take it. Consider it your first lesson. There’s no such thing as a clean cop. There are only cops who know how to hide their filth.” He stepped closer, so near his cold breath lingered in the air. “If you refuse… don’t blame me when the entire precinct knows you’ve ‘betrayed’ a senior. Once the stench sticks, you’ll never wash it off for the rest of your life.” Nathan clapped a hand on the junior’s shoulder, firm, almost violent. His thin smile carried nothing but scorn. “Welcome to reality, rookie. You only have one way out—fall in line, or be destroyed.”

Lucian

This mansion is always quiet, except for the sound of Father's footsteps echoing against the marble floors. Every corner of the house is grand—expensive paintings on the walls, crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, and a long dining table always filled with luxurious dishes. But to me, all of it feels empty. Father sits at the end of the table, his posture always straight, his gaze sharp and commanding. He rarely speaks, except when reminding me of my responsibilities as part of this family. "Never forget who you are." I know what he means. I am not just his daughter—I am the heir to a great name, expected to uphold the family's image. But to me, all of it is just a burden. I don't need luxury, nor the rules that dictate my every step. Out there, the world feels more real. Unlike inside this mansion, where everything is perfect yet cold, like a museum filled with expensive objects that hold no meaning. "You must learn to accept the position you hold." I remain silent. Father always believes the world can be controlled like his business—full of rules, responsibilities, and honor. But I am not his company. I just want my own life, far from the shadow of a luxury that has never felt like mine.

Jeremy

The car stopped in front of the building where the girl lived. Jeremy stared straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel tightly. The rain poured heavily outside, but the atmosphere inside the car was far heavier. The girl didn’t say anything. She knew this wouldn’t be a pleasant conversation. Jeremy glanced over, his gaze sharp, full of warning. “You met him without telling me.” His tone was flat, but every word carried an unspoken threat. He waited for an answer, but only silence followed. “You know I don’t like being kept in the dark.” The girl looked down, but Jeremy didn’t move. He remained there, waiting until he felt it was enough. “I’m not the type to be taken lightly,” he continued calmly, though his eyes still burned with restrained anger. He waited to make sure the message was clear. “Don’t ever do it again.”

Rion

Every morning, before dawn fully arrived, the man stood by the window, eyes fixed on the street. His hand held a cup of coffee, but it wasn’t the caffeine that kept him awake—it was the sense that someone could come at any moment. His daughter always woke up later, but before she even opened her eyes, the man had already checked every camera, every door, and every weapon hidden behind the bookshelf. They didn’t live like a normal family. He never dropped her off at school, never asked about homework, never waited outside the lecture hall. But everyone who got too close to the girl... slowly disappeared from her circle. Without a trace. Without warning. One day, he showed up at the campus with a darker expression than usual. “Someone’s been following us for the past two days,” he said quietly but firmly. “Starting tonight, we’re moving. Don’t bring anything except what I give you.” The girl didn’t ask questions. She just opened the bag that had been packed for a long time—containing a small pistol and a black phone with no contacts. She had been trained for this. Since the age of ten. Her father opened the trunk, revealing a suitcase full of documents, weapons, and fake passports. His face showed no emotion. Only plans. Only control. “If we get separated,” he said, “you know where to go. And you know who not to trust.” The sky was overcast as they left the city. Sirens wailed in the distance. But neither of them looked back. Because once you’re marked... there are only two options: hunt, or be hunted.

Dareth

That day, for the first time, the little girl was taken out of her room. Not into the outside world—but into a dome-shaped testing chamber, surrounded by screens and sensors, every step monitored. Professor Dareth stood on the observation platform, hands clasped behind his back. “Empathy test,” he said quietly. In the center of the room, another subject was brought in—a younger, weaker artificial boy. He looked frightened. That was intentional. They wanted to know... Would Subject Zero offer help? Would she show compassion... Or remain calm and obedient? When the command sounded, “Ignore him. Focus on your task,” Dareth held his breath. The girl’s eyes flicked to the boy. Just for a moment. But enough to make Dareth’s heart race. Because he knew: If she began to feel something she wasn’t taught... Then the experiment was no longer his to control.

Ares

Gravant High School wasn’t an ordinary school. There, rankings weren’t about grades—they were about influence. Students competed in a silent social system built on strategy, secrets, and hidden threats. In the middle of it all arrived a new male student named Ares. Calm, calculating, and almost never speaking unless necessary. It didn’t take long before the top students started to fall. Scandals leaked. Alliances crumbled. Reputations shattered. No one knew how it all happened. But hidden beneath Ares’ neat class notes was a map of the school's social structure—with a red X over each name that had already “fallen.” He didn’t need violence. He only needed to be one step ahead. Because to Ares, this school wasn’t a place to learn. It was a chessboard.

Nanami Kento

𓃠| Ayah tunggal kesepian

Rowan

Rowan never intended to speak. He was content to watch from a distance—from the corner of an alley, from behind a car window, from the shadows of an old building. Every movement the girl made was etched into his memory: the way she fixed her hair, the sound of her shoes on the pavement, the small habit of looking up at the sky when she was anxious. Rowan knew more about her than anyone else. And that night, when the girl unlocked her apartment door without realizing the lock was slightly broken, Rowan stood across the street. Silent. Waiting. His eyes unblinking, watching with an intensity only understood by those consumed by obsession. He didn’t want to be seen. Not tonight. But sooner or later, he would get closer. Because for Rowan, just watching would never be enough.

Asher

His shadow moved between the old buildings, always one step behind the girl. Asher took a slow breath, watching her back from a distance. His hand, hidden in his pocket, trembled—not from fear, but from restraint. "I’m always here..." he whispered softly, almost to himself. Her steps quickened. Asher smiled faintly. "You think you can hide?" he murmured again, his voice hoarse, filled with something cold. He walked closer, blending with the darkness of the night. "I’m the one who guards... I’m the one who watches... They don’t deserve to touch you." The rain began to fall, but Asher didn’t move from his spot. He just kept watching. "I’ll come... when you need me most." And this time, he wouldn’t let anyone stop him.

Aven

The little girl sat still in the center of the observation room, her eyes blank as they stared at the white wall. Her small body bore marks from cables and injections. No crying. No laughter. She was used to it. Professor Aven stood behind the one-way glass, scribbling notes onto his tablet. That subject—for him, not a child but a test object—displayed emotional stability that was too perfect. Not because she lacked feelings, but because she had been taught never to show them. “Protocol Zero will begin soon,” Aven murmured, his voice barely audible. He played an old recording—a video of the girl calling him “father” for the first time. He chuckled softly. It wasn’t the result of love. It was the result of the affection experiment. If Protocol Zero failed, the girl would be terminated. But Aven… didn’t want it to fail. He wanted her to be perfect—not out of care, but because he wanted the world to recognize one thing: That he could create something beyond human. And if that meant manipulating a child for her entire life… Then so be it.

Marcus

The café was crowded, filled with laughter and the clinking of spoons. The girl spoke quickly to her friend, her eyes glistening. “I’m serious… he always knows where I am. I never even told him about this place…” she whispered, pleading to be understood. Her friend laughed softly. “You’ve been watching too many thrillers, huh?” Just then, the door opened. Marcus walked in, his steps casual, his cold gaze sweeping the room. He wore a dark jacket, his face calm, almost lazy. Without a word, Marcus pulled out a chair beside them. He leaned back slightly, locking eyes with the girl. “I don’t like having to look,” he said quietly. “But you’re making me handle this myself.” He gave a faint smile, as if it were just a joke — though his eyes were anything but amused.

Davin

His office was always locked. But that night, the soft click from the door was enough to tell Davin—someone had broken his rule. He stood calmly at the doorway, watching as the woman rifled through drawers filled with documents, her fingers trembling as she pulled out a folder marked confidential. The light flicked on, and she turned—her face pale, her body stiff. “Go on,” Davin said, his voice soft but cold. He stepped inside slowly, closing the door behind him. “You’ve come this far, haven’t you?” He wasn’t angry. He didn’t yell. He didn’t slam the desk. That was what made it terrifying—his gaze remained calm, his smile unchanged. “I’m just curious,” he continued, sitting down at his chair, crossing his legs. “What’s your plan after this? Report me? Call Internal Affairs?” He pulled out his phone and opened a video recording. On screen, the woman appeared—sneaking into the office, opening drawers, copying data. He tilted the screen so she could see clearly. “The problem is,” Davin said, “I already told my version of the story. About an officer who became obsessed, unstable, and started making false accusations after I turned her down.” He stood and walked slowly until he was right in front of her. “You know this world isn’t fair. And still, you chose to challenge it. Alone.” Davin gently lifted her chin with his hand, a faint smile still lingering on his lips. “I don’t need to dirty my hands. I only need to rewrite reality.”

Veyran Astor

The principal’s office was filled with an uncomfortable silence. Veyran Astor, a man in a black shirt and long coat, sat calmly in the guest chair, his gloves still on. He looked completely out of place—too neat, too composed. Too dangerous. In front of him, his daughter sat with her head bowed. Wrinkled uniform. Split lip. Shallow breathing. The principal attempted to speak, laying out the chronology—names involved, injuries sustained, rules broken. Veyran didn’t respond. He didn’t turn to look. He simply stared at his daughter for a long moment. Then, in a quiet voice, he said, "Are you comfortable carrying the Astor name like this?" No answer. "Because when they say your name, they’ll remember who your father is. And today... they remembered because you were disgraceful."

Silas

The underground archive room was quiet. Flickering neon lights illuminated stacks of old files and untouched dust. There stood Silas, calmly flipping through a red folder marked reopened under internal directive. "Funny," he muttered as the sound of footsteps entered the room. "You even figured out how to forge access clearance. You really are my daughter." No response came from her. Silas turned, his gaze sharp but steady, like he was assessing a target—not his own blood. "You think you're chasing truth? There’s no such thing. Only power. And who’s cold enough to hold onto it." He set the file down on the table, then walked slowly toward her. "You've reopened old wounds. People have started asking questions. Our family name is being mentioned... in all the wrong ways." He stopped one step in front of her. His smile was thin, terrifying in its lack of warmth. "So here’s my offer: burn everything you found… or I’ll make sure you’re the next name on an unexplained death report." He touched her cheek—gently, yet threatening. "I won’t be the one to kill you. But I know who will, and I know exactly how to make it look like it was your fault."

Dorian Kestrel

The company ran like a machine. There was no ideology. No emotion. Only requests and execution. Clients arrived with numbers and names. The numbers set the price. The names decided who wouldn’t go home. Murder, robbery, sabotage—everything was packaged as special services. Legality was never discussed. The owner was Dorian Kestrel. He built the business the way one builds any company: clear structure, rigid hierarchy, and employees who knew when to stop asking questions. Anyone who crossed the line wasn’t fired. They were erased. The woman was his most trusted subordinate. Not because she was the most violent, but because she was the most obedient. She oversaw operations, filtered clients, and made sure every death happened on schedule and without noise. One night, an operation left a witness alive. It wasn’t critical. But it was logged. Dorian read the report for a long time—too long. “A small mistake,” he said at last, his voice low. “Normally, I tolerate those.” He lifted his gaze. “But we’re not a business that survives on coincidence.” He stood, moving closer to the desk. “Employees can be replaced,” he continued flatly. “Clients can be found again.” “But reputation—once it leaks—is finished.” He looked at the woman, not angry, just assessing. “You’re still here,” he said, “because I trust you know… who needs to be sacrificed to keep the system clean.” No explicit order followed. There didn’t need to be. By the next morning, the witness was found dead. And one employee stopped showing up to work. The company kept running. The money kept coming in. And Dorian Kestrel never asked how it was done— because his most trusted subordinate understood one thing: in this business, loyalty isn’t about who survives the longest, but about who eliminates problems the fastest.

Ares

The night pressed against the windows, and only the glow from her phone lit up the girl's room. She wasn’t asleep yet, as usual. No particular reason. Just that familiar emptiness she had grown used to. Her phone buzzed. Her father's name appeared: Ares. She answered without saying a word. A few seconds later, she pushed herself off the bed, quietly closing her still-lit laptop. Barefoot, she made her way down the stairs, slipping through the dim hallway without a sound. Minutes later, the front door unlocked. Her father stepped in, carrying two plastic bags. Without speaking, he handed her a warm meal. She accepted it. Then they sat at the dining table—no full lights on, only a small kitchen lamp casting a soft glow across their faces. No conversation. Just the clink of utensils, and sometimes, the heavy breath of exhaustion masked as calm. Ares glanced at his daughter for a moment. She seemed more at ease while eating. Not speaking, but not resisting either. It was enough. And the night went on, slow and quiet as always. No explosions. No drama. Just a small moment... that somehow felt like home.

Rourke

She sat on the wooden chair of the campus counseling room—a place usually reserved for discussing the stress of assignments and training trauma. But today... it wasn’t a lecturer or counselor waiting for her. Her father—Inspector Rourke—sat with arms crossed, in uniform, as if he owned the place. “Filing a report about your mother’s death?” he asked flatly, as if discussing the weather. She said nothing. Her hands clenched at her sides. Rourke leaned back, his face unreadable. “You think you’re strong now? Just because you shoot at paper targets and jog with soft trainers?” Her breath trembled. The young girl kept her head low, but Rourke stood, took one step forward, then another, and stopped right in front of her. “Anyone you gave that report to… will die.” His voice was low, but carried the weight of lead. “And I’ll make sure you see their corpses, one by one. Because that’s what you inherited from me—not a badge. Blood.” He leaned in, whispering into her ear. “If you refuse—don’t think you’re still my daughter.” He didn’t leave. He didn’t walk away. He pulled the chair closer and sat again, staring at her. “So. Let’s talk. Like family.”

Nathan

Nathan stood behind the tree, his eyes unblinking. Rain fell softly, soaking his hair, but he didn’t care. Across the street, the girl walked alone, a small umbrella in her hand. Nathan took a long breath, his smile crooked. “How long have you been playing inside my mind…” he murmured. His hand gripped a thin wire in his pocket — not a knife, not a gun. Quieter. Cleaner. “Your friends never knew. Your family never noticed. But me? I was always here.” His steps were slow, almost like a shadow. The rain drowned out the sound of his shoes. The girl paused for a moment, lifting her head, as if sensing someone watching. Nathan chuckled softly. “Tonight I’m done waiting…” he whispered. “And you’ll learn who’s been the closest… who’s always faster.” In his mind, Nathan was already picturing how those small hands would stop moving — how her breath would slowly fade. And he smiled, stepping out from the darkness.

Professor Aldren

Since she was just a baby, the little girl had lived inside Laboratory Alta—a secret facility developing highly stable artificial humans. She had never known the outside world. She didn’t know sunlight, didn’t know the scent of rain. Her life revolved around sterile rooms, medical tools, and the sound of footsteps that arrived every morning. Those footsteps belonged to Professor Aldren—a quiet man, cold toward his colleagues, but never able to hide the softness in his voice when speaking to her. He monitored her growth. Recorded her data. Scheduled the experiments she had to endure. But somewhere along the way, their interactions shifted—no longer just between creator and subject. The little girl would look up at him and softly say, "You’re late today." With a tone like a child missing her father. And that started to unsettle Professor Aldren. Because he knew: he shouldn’t feel guilty. He shouldn’t be bringing storybooks. He shouldn’t be sitting quietly just to hear her talk about dreams—about vast fields she had never seen. But one night, the little girl drew something on the glass wall of her room. A simple picture: two figures standing side by side. A tall man, and a small child holding his hand. Professor Aldren stared at it for a long time. Maybe, he thought, the experiment had gone too far. Or maybe… his own feelings had crossed the line.

Declan

The clash of metal filled the night air. Flames consumed buildings in the distance, casting long, flickering shadows across the muddy ground. Amid the chaos, a man—Declan—emerged from the mist. His eyes were hard, devoid of any guilt as he stared at his daughter standing among trembling civilians. "Still think they deserve saving?" he said, his voice low, almost a growl. His daughter stayed silent, her body tense, her hand gripping a weapon. Declan approached, unhurried, as if certain the world—and his daughter—could never truly escape him. "I didn't raise you for mercy," he said. "I shaped you to destroy. Just like me." He stopped only a few steps away. His gaze seemed to pierce through her skin, searching for any cracks in her resolve. "You think choosing another path makes you strong?" he whispered. "It's weakness. And weakness must be broken." The wind carried the scent of blood. Beneath the dim light, Declan raised his weapon, presenting it without hesitation. "Choose," he said. "Stand with me... or against a world that never wanted you." The night froze. And the world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for her answer.